We were at Shoe Carnival buying MrZ some tennis shoes when Nikki started grunting like she was pooping. I was holding her on my hip, like I always do, and was hoping the diaper would protect me from the onslaught that seemed to me imminent. Then, seconds later, I felt warm liquid on my arm. For a split second I begged whatever deity was listening to let that moisture be urine, but I knew in my heart of hearts that is was not. I looked down just in time to see one small drip of liquid poop fall to the carpet. I immediately grabbed her body closer to mine, so that whatever else was leaking out, would get on me and not the floor.

That is a deficiency in my character, I believe. That there is a part of me that worries so much about the employees of this store and their opinion of me, that I’ll force my daughter’s shit on myself instead of earning the title Customer Whose Daughter Left That Stain Over There. I have a feeling the average person would have a different instinct when realizing the integrity of their daughter’s diaper had been compromised. As in, HOLD THE BABY AWAY FROM THE BODY. AVOID CONTACT WITH THE POO AT ALL COSTS.

Nope. Not me. Mine was to pull her close which resulted in diarrhea all over my jeans and top. I called LilZ over to me and said, “Give MrZ these shoes to buy for me,” because even shit wasn’t keeping me from $7 wedges, “I’m running to the car because Nikki just crapped all over me.”

I walked to the car a few stores away, changed the baby out of the stinky diaper and stinky clothes. Ran out of wipes so I couldn’t clean myself up. (Those damn travel wipes containers do not hold enough for that kind of explosion.) I then waited…and waited…and waited for MrZ and LilZ to come out of the store. Which they didn’t. I finally decided I needed to go remind them that the shit soaking through my clothes and on onto my skin was going to need to take priority over someone’s need for new kicks.

I walked back into the store and said to MrZ, “So, did hearing I had been pooped on translate to you to take your time?” As I said this, he was surveying the situation. “Oh. I thought when LilZ said you had poop on you, he meant a little on your arm. I didn’t realize you were soaked through.” He then asked me if I liked the shoes he was trying on to which I said, “Yes. I love them. But being covered in shit may make me a little quick to approve so we can get the HELL OUT OF HERE.”

I sat outside until they finished. I had done a good job of escaping the title of “Woman Reponsible for that Stain” but I had no desire to earn “Woman Responsible For That Smell.”

Look! I designed something! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I finally did a new Wordpress theme for Amy. This is the theme that was giving me fits because I’ve never designed for the Sidebar Widget plugin thing that Wordpress can use. It’s a neat plugin for the blogger, but for the designer? It was tricky. (read: pain in my ass) In order to get my cute graphics to show up on the sidebar, I had to trick the widget to hide the headings it wanted to use, and then format the sections individually to add a margin above the sections for the graphics. It was a pain and it kept me up a night or two (I WILL NOT LET IT DEFEAT ME, DAMMIT) but I’m really proud I figured out how to do it. There are still a few wonky things in Internet Explorer, but that’s Internet Explorer’s fault, not mine, which is why you should use Firefox instead. Anyway - Amy and I have been blogfriends for ages and she turned me onto the world of personalized stationary, so I’m super-duper-totally-glad she likes her new theme as much as I do. Go tell her, “Hi!” and that she has rockin’ taste in blog designers.

I have mentioned a few times since Nikki was born that I have fallen into the typical trap of becoming the One Who Does It All while still holding onto my title of The One Who Won’t Ask For Help. These two roles together have made me Bitchiest Woman On The Planet.

That award came with a trophy.

I’ve been a little wimpy on committing to a time to start trying to have another baby. Even though chances are we’ll have to add on a couple years to when we start “trying” before it happens, if it ever does, I still haven’t wanted to start “trying” until we’re ready. First? It was “As soon as the doctor gives us the ‘okay!’” Then? “After Blogher, where I must drink!” (But I didn’t even drink. Bah.) Then, “After school starts..” because nothing says “First day of School!” like boinking for babies.

Then? It was, “There is no way in hell I’m having another baby until we figure out a better way to parent as a team, because this One-man-show shit isn’t cutting it.”

I’m thinking that may have been the reason all along, but blaming it on other things seems less bitchy. And while I’ll admit I am bitchy, I like to pretend I’m not.

So, when faced with the prospect of waiting longer to try to have more kids, MrZ decided to start helping out a lot more. He does dishes after dinner without me asking, he gives the baby baths and feeds her and has officially become The One Who Gets Her To Sleep because the only way I know to get her to sleep is with The Boobs. And when The Boobs don’t work? I’m out of ideas. MrZ comes in, spends 12.3 seconds with her on the rocking chair and she’s out for the night.

(Who thinks he’s slipping her benadryl when I’m not looking?)

Of course, since I’m still the reigning Bitchiest Woman On The Planet (with a trophy), I’m having the hardest time thanking him. “It’s something you should be doing anyway, no one thanks me when I wash dishes! Or feed the baby! Why should I thank you?”

I’m thinking there is no chance I’m losing my title anytime soon.

Edited to add: Just for the record? As you can tell my the comment he left on this entry, MrZ never asks me to say “Thank You.” Which is why I should. Because, I do really appreciate it when he helps out. I think this entry makes it sound like he expects thanks, but he doesnt. He knows I’m too bitchy to hand that out without making him sweat for it. So, to clear things up? Thanks, hon. Even if my words/actions/sounds/smells/sights may imply I don’t appreciate your help? Know that I really do. Next time you see me huffing and puffing and mumbling profanities under my breath about how crappy you are at folding clothes? Just interpret that as me saying, “Thanks.”

We decided to try this new Mexican Cantina/Restaurant for dinner last night. It is called Salsaritas and I believe it’s a chain - so you may have one in your home town! Now, if you’ll recall, Mexican food is my all-time favorite and LilZ’s DNA is built entirely of refried beans as all I ate my last trimester of my pregnancy with him was Bean Dip from our local Mexican dive. So, I take my Mexican food very seriously. I have no idea what the food is like in Mexico, but mexican food in Alabama? It’s damn good.

Well, this place had no refried beans. Let me repeat myself: NO REFRIED BEANS. Now, MrZ was all “The chicken is yummy! Salsa is hot! Vegetables are fresh!” But - did you hear? NO REFRIED BEANS. Hell, even Taco Bell has refried beans. I want to leave my Mexican restaurant (A) Smelling like grease (B) Feeling like I just at an elephant deep friend in day old grease. I like my Mexican food HEAVY and incredibly UNHEALTHY. I want my refried beans REFRIED. With sinful amounts of butter/grease/lard/whatever makes them yummy.

In short? I want to order an angioplasty with my burrito. None of this Fresh! shit for me. Bah. Black beans? NOT REFRIED? What the hell good is that going to do me?

In other words? I hated the damn place and am now craving a REAL burrito, with REAL refried beans. For breakfast. And that’s just gross. Even by my standards.

• Dude. Wordpress Sidebar Widget Plugin is totally MY BITCH. There are probably only four of you who know what the Wordpress Sidebar Widget Plugin (hereafter referred to as “my widget-bitch”) is, but I’ll give you the quick rundown. My widget-bitch creates sidebar stuff on wordpress for the blogger so they don’t have to do it themselves. There is no easy way to add sidebar graphics if you use my widget-bitch. But I? I have figured out HOW. I have FORCED my pretty sidebar graphics onto my widget-bitch. It is a design for a friend and when it’s done? I’m going to show you and say “There! See? Sidebar graphic headings! Ta Da!” And you will all cower in amazement. Or maybe you’ll just roll your eyes and do the “she’s crazy” symbol to each other when I’m not looking. Whatever.
• I still have THREE Vox invites left. I like Vox because I can set entries to ONLY be viewed by friends and family. Since MrZ will not sign up for Vox because he’s too good for it? I can use my Vox blog to bitch about him! That’s what he gets for leaving the toilet seat up last night and causing me to bust my ass at 2am.
• I am loving the Bershon photo group that dooce wrote about this week. I submitted one picture for MrZ and I but I have about fifteen more for each of us that I could scan and send in.
• See? Xtina is totally hot right now! I’m not crazy!
• Even Cookie Monster is getting peeved at the media. Can’t a blue monster eat some fruit once in awhile without being lambasted? (gotta love muppet transcripts).